” He nodded twice, with his eyes on the fire, as though that was a formal statement. There is not a soul in the inn but ourselves. "Ruth, you must not come and sit on the threshold. She could not part with dignity. Carried out to sea by Van Galgebrok, and thrown overboard, while struggling with the waves, he had been picked up by a French fishing-boat, and carried to Ostend. Lucy thought of a song that she had not been able to get out of her head since the Fifties. Anna leaned over so that he needed only to whisper. It was equally as beautiful but not quite so fine as the daughter's. Nothing at all. The above description of —the great Figg, by the prize-fighting swains Sole monarch acknowledged of Mary'bone plains— may sound somewhat tame by the side of the glowing account given of him by his gallant biographer, who asserts that "there was a majesty shone in his countenance, and blazed in his actions, beyond all I ever saw;" but it may, possibly, convey a more accurate notion of his personal appearance.
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